


Breaking and Entering

by Spoodlemonkey



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Honestly the beginning is crack, Hurt/Comfort, I just love these boys okay?, M/M, Post Game Seven, Pre-Slash, Some Crack, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 20:16:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18598648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: “I didn’t give you a key so you could show up at my place at,” he checks the clock and winces when he realizes how late it is. “Three in the morning and scare the crap out of me.”





	Breaking and Entering

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. Just a little something to help get over Game Seven with soft boys! Don't own.

Morgan is  _ a hundred percent _ positive his apartment is being broken into. 

He can’t sleep, too wired from the game, to devastated by  _ another _ loss they could have prevented- and thank  _ fuck _ he can’t sleep, it’s the only reason he knows there’s someone else in his home. Heart thundering in his ears he shoves his phone in the pocket of his sweats and slides out of bed. The logical thing would be to call the cops, right? Morgan isn’t feeling very logical tonight. 

He is  _ pissed _ though. 

There’s a baseball bat he keeps under his bed for occasions such as this- not that it’s happened before but safety first, right? He grabs it now, padding silently over to the door. He presses his ear to the wood and can just make out the faint sounds of someone moving around. 

How they got past his security system he doesn’t know, but they’re sure as hell going to regret it now.

Morgan cracks the door open a sliver. It’s dark in the hall leading to the living room. There’s the sound of his fridge being opened and a soft glow creeps down the hall. Not only is he being  _ robbed _ but now his foods being eaten too? 

The only explanation Morgan can think of is that this dumbass thinks he’s not home. How he missed the duffle Morgan had dumped on the floor after getting in late, too tired, too defeated to deal with it, is a mystery to him. 

He creeps along the short hall, wincing at how loud his breathing is, certain that whoever it is can hear his heart pounding against his ribs. Morgan pauses just around the corner, ears straining for any sound of movement. The tap turns on followed by the clatter of dishes, startling him but he doesn’t make a sound. Is the asshole doing  _ dishes _ now?

Baffled and pissed, Morgan peeks around the corner and instantly deflates.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

There’s the sound of glass shattering and Jake swears long and loud.

“Are you  _ trying _ to give me a heart attack?” Jake demands.

Morgan places his bat on the counter, reaching over to flick on the kitchen lights. Jake’s clutching his hand, blood slowly dripping from his palm to the tile under his feet. He feels a little nauseous at the sight. Blood he’s fine with, it doesn’t bother him. This is  _ Jake’s _ though. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Lack of sleep and adrenaline makes his words come out harsher than he intends, but his touch is gentle as he takes Jake’s hand, inspecting the cut on his palm. “Here, sit down.” He gets him into one of the stools along the island and grabs the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. 

“Why the fuck do you have that?” Jake asks, eyeing the baseball bat next to him.

“I thought you were breaking in.” Morgan lays out what he needs, gently cleaning the blood from Jake’s palm so he can see the cut properly. It’s not as bad as he thought, but it’s clearly sore if the tense way Jake holds himself is any indication.

“And doing your dishes?” He winces as Morgan presses a clean piece of gauze to the wound, taping it in place. 

“I didn’t give you a key so you could show up at my place at,” he checks the clock and winces when he realizes how late it is. “Three in the morning and scare the crap out of me.” 

“But you didn’t  _ not _ give me a key to do it.” Jake smirks.

“I  _ will _ kick your ass.”

“I’m  _ wounded.” _ Jake pouts. 

Morgan ignores him, storing the first aid kit back under the sink. He grabs paper towel to wipe up the blood, trying hard not to linger too long on it. It all gets tossed in the trash, along with the glass that Jake broke in the sink. 

Jake is quiet while Morgan goes about cleaning up, so quiet that he’s certain that Jake’s fallen asleep, but when he turns back around it’s to find him watching him with dark, tired eyes. The dark smudges underneath probably match Morgan’s. Jake’s skin is too pale after a long winter and an even longer run for the playoffs, he looks sickly in the harsh lights in Morgan’s kitchen. He’s hit with the overwhelming urge to wrap him up in his arms, hold him tight and keep him close. Out of the playoffs, there’s no reason now for either of them to stay in the city once they’ve cleaned out their lockers. Morgan isn’t ready to let go.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He hazards and Jake nods, gaze on his palm as he toys idly with the edges of the gauze. He glances back down the hall to his bedroom; it’s not like he was getting any sleep either. “Come on.” He holds his hand out for Jake’s, leading him into the living room. Morgan settles back against the arm rest, tugging Jake until he’s curled up against his chest, cheek resting over Morgan’s heart.

Morgan tugs the blanket off the back of the couch, covering them both up with it, and cues up Netflix. His chest feels tight and he has to bite his lip against everything he wants to say. It’s three in the morning and it feels like the moment is suspended in time, like they could do anything right now and everything would turn out okay.

“Thanks.” Jake murmurs. “The apartment was too quiet. Miss having you there.” He sounds tired, weary and maybe that’s why when he opens his mouth, what comes out is,

“Come to B.C with me.” Jake cranes his neck, big blue eyes staring up at him. Morgan’s never had a problem reading Jake, but especially now with how open his expression is. “I’ll take you around, show you the sights. Take you paddle boarding.” 

Jake’s smile is small but breathtaking. 

“Alright.” 

He tucks his head back down, but Morgan can still make out his smile. It ignites something in him, spreads warmth all the way down to his toes. Feeling daring, he presses a soft kiss to Jake’s head, feeling the way Jake’s grip on him tightens, the way he presses closer. 

His heart is thundering in his ears but for a whole new reason now. It’s  _ definitely _ not fear. 

Eventually, they fall asleep like that, entangled, uncertain where one of them ends and the other begins. Just as it should be. 


End file.
